


Light a Fire

by YaminoTenshi202



Series: Grá mo chroí [5]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Donald Duck, Body Worship, Caring Scrooge McDuck, Communication, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, Hand Feeding, Handfasting, Incest, Internal Conflict, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Awareness, Mental Health Issues, Morning Cuddles, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Research, Secret Relationship, Sex-Positive Donald Duck, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: “Hello, Uncle Scrooge.”“Not today,” was Scrooge’s reply.-Donald and Scrooge have seven days, and they have their first.





	1. Wading

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr if you guys have a request!: devan-shires.tumblr.com
> 
> This is the longest thing I've written in such a short amount of time. It took me a bit over two weeks, but I think it's my best work in such a time-frame.
> 
> NOTE: This was originally going to be a long one-shot, but then my sibling and I didn't really know what to do with how long it was.

**_Wading_ **

* * *

Donald had been in one of the bathroom suites when Scrooge had come to stand at the door. When he came out, robe around his body and a towel in hand, Donald saw Scrooge standing there. The older drake was in all of his clothing, and there Donald was almost naked. The familiar red coat held so many memories and the cane that Scrooge held was something Donald had associated with the drake since his ducklinghood.

“Hello, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Not today,” was Scrooge’s reply. With that Donald felt himself shiver. They had talked about this before, spending a day like this together - alone. As of four days ago, Della was off on a trip with Daisy and the other hen’s family - the trip would last another three weeks. Donald recalled how they had talked last evening with Duckworth even. Scrooge had found that after 730 days of perfect service, Duckworth could take any length of time off. Out of gratitude - or perhaps a special kind of intelligence - Duckworth had left yesterday after dinner, making himself some tiramisu and heading over to a resort in the south of their state of Calisota. There, he would enjoy seven days of relaxation.

Now, they had a week to themselves, and this was the **first day**.

“Hello… _gràdh m 'anama_.” Donald smiled once he saw Scrooge relax into a smile as well. Scrooge put out his free hand and Donald reached for it automatically.

This was their week to be together, in whatever way that they could be. Donald thought of the idea fondly as Scrooge guided him to his own bedroom. Donald knew the pathway like the back of his hand. Only so many steps to Scrooge’s room, and Donald’s bedroom wasn’t very far away.

Opening the door, Scrooge led Donald inside. Donald looked at the bed that he had been able to so freely climb into as a duckling, free to hide in Scrooge’s feathers as big hands and strong arms would chase away nightmares. He turned to watch Scrooge close the door and their eyes met. Blue stared into blue.

“Take it off.”

Donald nodded, not breaking eye contact. He set the towel on the bed and untied the cloth belt from his waist. With as smooth as he could make his movements, he let the robe come off of his shoulders and pulled his arms out of the sleeves. He set the robe on the foot of the bed, next to the towel, and turned his attention back to his _gràdh m 'anama_.

Scrooge approached him, settling his cane in a holder where an umbrella also stood. Scrooge came close. Donald’s face was cradled in warm hands, water droplets still clinging to his feathers.

“My wet little duckling.” Donald beamed at the comment, that little pet name. He watched Scrooge pick up the towel. After a quick moment, Scrooge began to dry Donald’s feathers. Donald obeyed when he was given commands, raising up his arms and turning around so that his arms and back could be dried.

When he turned back around, Scrooge held the towel at Donald’s waist. Their eyes were held again in a lock. They were attempting to talk the way that they had practiced, the way that Scrooge wanted and the way that Donald was comfortable with.

Donald nodded. As Scrooge slowly guided the towel down, between Donald’s legs, Donald shivered but did not reach for Scrooge’s hand. He didn’t protest when Scrooge bent down, rubbing dry that place that sometimes tempted Donald to tease but had only succumbed to on occasion. When Scrooge moved further back, Donald spread his legs a bit further to give him room. Scrooge dried every spot, his feathers fluffing with each spot that was dried down.

“ _Mo anam cara_ ,” whispered Scrooge. Donald sighed, obeying the silent command to close his legs when Scrooge patted his legs. His legs were soon dry and he was standing naked in front of Scrooge, clean and dry. Scrooge stood, leaving the towel on the floor.

Donald felt bare, at his love’s mercy. He didn’t feel scared at all. He wanted this, wanted this feeling between them. It was a secret away from the world, just getting started.

His love guided him to the bed, where they laid down. His love held him so that they were back to chest. Donald could feel warm breath on the back of his neck. Everything felt so safe here, wrapped in love and warmth.

Hands were going over his body so gently, touching every part of him like a feather against a bubble. He wasn’t being hurt or scarred. His love was appreciating him. As kisses began to follow those strong hands - hands that could tear worlds apart - Donald felt himself sink lower into a calm that he’d experienced once, when he had had a similar experience in college, but this was… This was quicker, without the unease of a loved, kind lover.

A beak - well-experienced - began to busy itself with his neck feathers, rearranging the mussied down and fluff into an orderly plumage. Donald shivered as his love made him beautiful to his liking, to both of their likings. Even when he was guided to onto his back, his feathers preened, Donald felt so safe and… almost worshiped. Even the area between his legs, where his drakehood made itself apparent - though not for attention - was loved, never further than what Donald had discussed with his love before.

When he was guided onto his stomach, Donald felt a flutter of anxiety in his stomach. It wasn’t fear nor excitement - it was only the knowledge that his lover was preening him so close to his backside, on his backside, and then a tongue-

He flinched at the warm wetness that wandered near his hole. It was a quick swipe, nothing threatening - because why would his friend-of-the-soul do that? - but the tongue hesitated, waiting for Donald to protest. Donald thought for a moment before relaxing his body again. That warm heat came again, the sensation sending a comfort through Donald's body.

His lover claimed that area with his hot tongue, lavishing it with attention, before using his beak to preen the rest of Donald's feathers. Soon, Donald was preened fully and wholly, feathers rearranged into their natural positions.

Lovers laid together, moving so that they could kiss and murmur words of love in their own way - Donald gave his pecks of love, while the drake, that held him under the wave of passion, praised him, embraced him, and they rested there for a time that Donald couldn’t measure, submerged in love.

* * *

Scrooge watched his love sleep. Oh, how sweet Donald was! He had moved with every command, caress, and guide that Scrooge gave, hesitant and reluctant to disobey or give aid where it was not asked for. Donald was still naked beside him. Scrooge watched every part of him, every breath that made his chest rise and fall. He’d decided that, when they should finally have time for one another, to appreciate the other to the fullest extent that both took comfort in, that they’d take their time. After all, it was only their **first day** together like this.

They would have these days to look back upon during hardships.

He pressed his beak to Donald’s forehead, a kiss that Scrooge found delight in giving. With that, Scrooge moved to get off of the bed, covering Donald in the duvet as he left. He was ready to admire that body again, and possibly he would stoke the fires in the belly, remember every sensation he had examined with his hands and beak and tongue and -

He was well on his way to the room’s bathroom as he could feel himself harden. His cock was soon in hand and - like a mad man - Scrooge found himself biting back moans and motions against the door that he lay against. His hands could recall the sensations of Donald's body, his face and tongue still familiar with how soft the younger drake's body was. That entrance that Donald had confessed had been penetrated by nubile fingers, curious and slim; if Donald was agreeable to it, Scrooge could stuff himself into that tight entrance, fill him with spend, mark him so deep-

Scrooge felt himself drown in a deep wave of pleasure, a moan drawing itself out of his throat as his body slid to the tiled floor. He couldn't feel himself spill onto the tiles, and he'd look later and not see any. No, pleasure had torn itself into his mind, pulling an orgasm from him before his cock could properly respond in kind.

The coolness of the floor soothed his overheated body, a sigh fogging the shine of the ceramic slightly. His cock, no longer stimulated, grew soft soon after, his body ready to rest. Rather than do that, however, Scrooge took off his clothes and jumped into the shower - the day was young and they had yet to enjoy the day’s sunshine.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent doing daily activities. Scrooge and Donald made breakfast together, with minimal fire damage. There, Scrooge fed Donald slowly. He watched as Donald licked at his fingers, allowing Scrooge to press his fingers inward. Donald suckled on those digits, licking them clean of any sweetness of syrup or the savory flavor of sausage. Scrooge found himself not stirring to the heat of his lover suckling on any part of him. He found joy in watching Donald relax for the first time in what seemed to be months. Even earlier, as Donald exited the shower and Scrooge had worshiped the body that had long been in front of him without Scrooge himself taking time to appreciate, Donald was relaxing in a way that Scrooge had never seen.

Perhaps, during their training to become acquainted in every way with each other, but this was something that Scrooge found himself craving. He wanted Donald to be lost in pleasure and peace, to be submerged under the surface of Scrooge’s love and lust and adoration. Even if Donald didn’t want part of him, Scrooge would give all the rest of himself, just to make sure that Donald knew that he was loved. Scrooge would somehow carve it into the younger drake if he had to.

“Scrooge-” The older drake looked up, his vision clearing away any thoughts that had drawn him in too deeply. Donald was drooling heavily, trying to keep the mess as small as possible… And in trying to control his mess, he was left suckling on Scrooge’s fingers. There was a blush of exertion and embarrassment that was tinting the down of Donald’s cheeks. The sensation of Donald’s tongue shouldn’t have excited Scrooge as much as it did - and it wasn’t a sexual excitement! - but Scrooge pushed his fingers further, amazed as Donald let out the slightest of gagging noises before settling again.

In an emotion that Scrooge could only akin to astonishment, he pulled out his fingers from Donald’s mouth, bringing them to his own. He sucked on his own fingers, noting quite quickly that the feeling of his own mouth, his tongue, and the gentle suction that he applied immediately did not feel anything like Donald’s own. Everything felt… ordinary.

After sucking off all of the taste of Donald from his fingers, Scrooge pulled out his fingers from his mouth. He grabbed a linen to wipe his hand before Donald’s hand grabbed his. Blue met blue and Scrooge stared as Donald cleaned of his hand.

“... Do I taste good?” Donald asked.

“Better than wine, ambrosia, and gold itself,” Scrooge assured him, pressing a kiss to Donald’s cheek where the pink of a shy blush burned into a bright red.

“Better than gold?”

“Aye, and I’m quite a connoisseur of the stuff, my dear boy,” Scrooge assured, grabbing another piece of food from Donald’s plate, a bit of black pudding. The last piece of blood sausage was placed on Donald’s tongue, the meat soon gone. Chasing after what he had just partaken in, Scrooge pressed his beak to Donald’s back. Tongue tasted tongue. The taste of bread and meat didn’t hide Donald’s taste, Scrooge found, and he pulled away when Donald reached for something on the table.

“Did I…”

There was something unspoken, something neither bit of pride in either drake would allow.

“You should eat too.” Donald grabbed a fork and stabbed some sausage as he brought the syrup bottle over for Scrooge’s untouched fluffy pancakes. Scrooge opened his beak expectantly, watching his nephew as Donald fed him.

Donald’s blush was still there, but their gazes were locked onto what the other was doing. Scrooge found himself smiling around the fork as savory meat met his tongue. Donald smiled, and soon both began to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

It was only their **first day** like this; how would they survive a week?

* * *

The rest of the day, Donald found himself content to stay close to his love. They watched documentaries of old movies that Donald had grown up on, that Scrooge himself had attended during their productions as a red carpet guest on occasion. Cuddled against Scrooge’s side, Donald sighed as Scrooge played with some of his head feathers. Clark Geybird and Vivian Layh were exchanging words of love and battle with one another - of lust and pride, as well - as they ran out of Atlanta, the actresses for Melanie and Prissy in tow with the two chicks in the back wagon.

The fires of Atlanta were far behind them, and Scrooge was sighing. Donald looked up to him. Scrooge looked down at him, jostled by the movement.

“I remember seeing a fire. Not as big, but it was frightening.”

“Yeah?”

“When I was prospecting in the Klondike. After I struck my fortune, a fire broke out at the Blackjack.” Scrooge hummed, recalling those days. “Do you remember me talking about Goldie?”

“Yes.” Donald grabbed Scrooge’s hand in his own, a claim on something that woman would never have - this kind of tenderness.

“She was inside. She tried to run out, but when I made my way in, meeting her eyes… We just stared at each other.” Scrooge shifted slightly, Donald moving in kind.

“Next thing I know, Goldie seemed to be faint. I ran to her, but something knocked me unconscious.” Scrooge chuckled. “Goldie dragged me outside herself. Wasn’t cold at all… Probably due to the fire.”

Donald paused the film. “What time of year was it?”

“Winter. We were in the middle of a snowstorm, too.”

Donald smiled, nuzzling at Scrooge’s side. “Can you take me to the Klondike someday? To see where your claim is…”

“Of course, darlin’. I’ve been meaning to go up to visit. Dawson was a quaint little town, once you could get past those whiny sourdoughs that would’nae try to work as hard as me.”

“... Tell me again, about the Goose Egg Nugget.”

The film forgotten, Scrooge began to weave the story from his youth, Donald’s own youth sparkling back at him with those bright eyes.


	2. Sinking

_**Sinking** _

* * *

The next morning came, and Donald proceeded with his schedule of waking up early, stretching just a bit, and then heading off to the shower. He knew that Scrooge would be sleeping for another half-hour at least.

When he made it into the shower, Donald quickly got in and sighed as the warm water hit his coat of feathers. The soft soap that he spread over his feathers and down smelt of gentle pine and mint, not overbearing. Sometimes, when Scrooge would get himself ready for a meeting, he’d wear a cologne of the same scent. An old fragrance, Scrooge had gotten free samples of it when its seller had been starting his business, the value now well out of Scrooge’s allowance for such luxuries.

Donald had gotten it from Gladstone years ago. A gift of cologne and a similar smelling body wash when he was going to a spring formal dance; he and Della had danced the night away, two siblings without dates and the future bright ahead of them. Della had stuck by him, telling how wonderful he smelt.

Scrooge, Donald thought, always smelt wonderful. Donald loved the scent, the scent of his _anam cara_ , and having it on him was a calming sense.

He turned the water off for a while giving himself some time just to wash his coat of feathers again in every place that he could. Donald thought of yesterday, how his friend-of-the-soul had taken delight in licking every part of him, and he shivered at the memory.

It wasn't sexual for him, not at all. It felt like he was being taken care of. Donald felt safe and loved - even worshipped! - by his lover as Scrooge claimed and tasted every part of Donald's body. When Scrooge had licked at his ass, it didn't remind Donald of the pornography he'd seen in University or what he'd seen with José and Panchito. It made Donald think of the first time that Scrooge had kissed him, back when Donald was left with a broken arm, blood transfusions, and the heartache of horror that he wouldn't see his family ever again.

Donald reached for the handles for the water, wanting to getting the foam out of his feathers. Relaxation had replaced itself with a sickening dread that made him fear breakfast, nausea creating a stormy sea in his stomach. The scent of Scrooge calmed him somewhat, but Donald found himself exhausted already from memories of iron, blood, and peroxide cleaner. He wanted to sleep, but…

"Donald?"

Donald jumped at the sound, slipping and falling onto the slippery porcelain of the shower-tub. He groaned, trying to get his bearings as he saw Scrooge pull open the curtain and turn off the water. Scrooge looked down at him with worried eyes that almost seemed to swim with tears.

**Two days** in, and Donald already ruined the week.

“What’s wrong, love?”

… Why did Scrooge ever agree to all of this in the first place?

“Come, dear.” Donald closed his eyes and sighed. Scrooge helped him sit up, having Donald rest over the edge of the tub. “What happened?”

“... It’s nothing.”

Scrooge frowned, his look of worry turning more into something of a glare. Donald’s blood turned to ice. It wasn’t teasing or as playful as some of Scrooge’s reactions could be; it wasn’t anywhere close to how Scrooge would act when they were partners in business or adventure. This came from something deeper, and it made Donald want to whimper.

“I…”

“Donald, lovely,” Scrooge cooed, his face softening. He kissed Donald’s forehead, peppering small smooches all over Donald’s face. The older drake whispered small cooings, trying to gently comfort his love that began to let his tears roll down his feathered face.

“I’m sorry,” Donald stuttered. “I’m sorry…”

“Darlin’, it’s okay… It’s okay…” The water from the shower had drained away, leaving Donald a shivering mess. Scrooge turned the water on again, letting it warm up and trying to warm up his love that was now shivering in the tub. The faucet began to let out warm water, and Scrooge grabbed a small plastic container that he always kept by the tub.

Donald closed his eyes as Scrooge pushed him enough that Donald was over the expanse of the tub. Warm water began to pour down his head, letting the suds flow away. Scrooge continued to speak softly, trying to comfort Donald as best as he could.

A hand swept over his feathers, making sure all of the soap was gone. Donald felt grounded, like Scrooge was holding him together. The feeling of metal and bloody feathers faded from his awareness slowly, Donald still shivering.

“ _Anam cara_ … What happened?”

“... I remembered… The hospital.”

Scrooge lifted Donald’s head by the chin, meeting his gaze.

“You’re here with me, my love. I’m here…”

“I know.” Donald nodded, closing his eyes and taking some slow, deep breaths. “I just- I thought about yesterday, what you did.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes!” Donald winced at how he shouted that, but he didn’t want Scrooge to misunderstand. “I liked it a lot… I thought of when I was in the hospital, when you kissed me. I loved it…”

“Did you get stuck thinking about the hospital?”

Donald nodded.

Scrooge, seemingly done with cleaning Donald, turned off the water, bringing the other close for a kiss. Donald moved with his love, letting the kiss take its course and soon tasting the other’s tongue against his. When he needed to breathe, he pulled away, thought Scrooge continued as he usually did.

“Never apologize for that. Never try to hide that pain from me, sweetheart. Let me help you bear it, my bonnie boy.”

Donald sighed, letting Scrooge raise his spirits again.

* * *

Scrooge had had plans for their **second day** together, but they had changed since the early morning. Scrooge had hear the water start and had decided to check on Donald to see if they could complete said plans, needing an early start to do so, but Donald’s health was more important.

After drying Donald off and coddling him into a bath blanket, Scrooge led him to Scrooge’s bedroom. Donald’s face seemed a bit pinker. Scrooge thought back to when Donald was young.

“Lay here with me, darlin’. We can make breakfast in a little while.” Donald nodded and let Scrooge tuck him under the blankets. Soon, they were just laying -next to one another.

“It’s been a while since that happened,” Scrooge commented.

“Yeah.” Donald wrapped and arm around Scrooge’s chest, moving to place his ear over the spot where he would be able to hear Scrooge’s heartbeat. “I remembered being so scared that I wouldn’t make it back to you and Della, that I wouldn’t get to tell you just how much I love you.”

Scrooge stroked Donald’s feathers anywhere that he could properly reach. There was tension in those muscles underneath, something that Scrooge hated seeing in his sweet duckling. Those days in the Navy were proud ones, he believed, but nothing could frighten him more than the day that he and Della had received the phone call that had alerted them to Donald’s admission there. The days had been long, full of medical treatments and physical therapy.

Scrooge kissed Donald sweetly, square on the mouth, and tried to impress himself upon his young love. Donald moved with Scrooge, letting Scrooge press him into the mattress beneath them.

For a moment, Scrooge realised how blessed he was. Donald was here, beneath him, with him - never could this happen outside of McDuck Manor… This was their castle where they could love each other and comfort each other in the way that they really wanted. Donald reached up to pull Scrooge closer, and Scrooge obeyed, letting his own tension flow away.

They spent most of the morning doing this, comforting each other, that only another nap could let their appetites build up for lunch.

* * *

When they finally did make it to lunch - some simple sandwiches as to avoid the hazard from yesterday - Donald and Scrooge were in the garden, chatting away about their youths. For Donald, the stories between them meant that they could find places to connect. After all, his uncle was a century older than Donald; surely they could find something to talk about where they had some common ground. It had been one of Donald’s hopes since he first began to live with his uncle in the first place!

As Scrooge began to discuss his life on the waters of the Atlantic, the China Sea, and even going through the Panama Canal in its infancy, Donald found himself chiming in about his time in the Royal Navy and in University. They began to discuss the benefits and weaknesses of steam versus thermal energy in terms of maritime safety.

They loved having similar interests. Adventuring was in their blood, as Scrooge would often profess. Donald, a bit more of a calculating man himself, would often be the one to analyse safe passage and aid both Scrooge and Della in taking care of minor injuries that they would sustain in their recklessness. Scrooge would often say that Donald was much like his mother Hortense, calculating and careful.

"... Can you tell me about my mother?" Donald asked after they had discussed the deal that Scrooge had made concerning the Panama Canal.

"Of course, love," Scrooge said sweetly, taking a moment to wipe some mayonnaise from the corner of Donald's beak, licking the condiment from his fingers. "Your mother Hortense was born when I was about nine years old… She was such a beautiful child, but she was so naughty! When she was ten months old, she started to walk. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but she started to take things from our pockets, like occasionally earned coins and small sweeties that Matilda and I would get from our teachers.

“She gave you your beauty, you know,” Scrooge said sincerely, watching Donald’s face flush as the younger drake continued to eat his sandwich. "I think she gave you your wit as well, though she wasn't as skilled with her silver-tongue as you are."

Donald grinned at that, putting down his food for a moment and planting a kiss on Scrooge's cheek. Scrooge turned face and returned the kiss, ignoring the food that they had made, resting his head on Donald's shoulder as his love continued to eat.

"Eat your fill, love, I'll eat when you are done." Scrooge closed his eyes, enjoying Donald's scent and the emotion of a calm day.

Their afternoon afterward, when Scrooge and Donald found themselves full and bored, was filled with going through the garage for trinkets, tchotchkes, and relics that they had so many stories for. Some of them Scrooge had found with his precious nephew and niece, Hortense's sweet ducklings, and they were all the more special to him for it.

"Do you want to solve this?" Donald asked holding up a relic that Scrooge had gotten years ago on Ithaquack, from the Echo Mirror of Narcissus. The bronze mirror, polished into an impossibly smooth surface, had several lines of Greek inscriptions on its surface, as though the words were printed into the metal. Scrooge smiled and grabbed the Mirror.

"All right! Let's solve it," Scrooge said, leading Donald by the hand to his private study, where they tried to figure out the Greek adorning the mirror.

Somehow, they ended up distracted while they tried to decipher the Mirror, ending up playing a multilingual game of hangman that had Donald hiccoughing with laughter and Scrooge trying to remember every accent that he had ever heard, saying the most ridiculous things that he could think of just to keep that smile on Donald’s face.

* * *

“Did you have something else planned for today?” Donald found himself asking as they had some soup for dinner. Donald let himself be fed again, the smooth surface of the spoon a welcome texture. The taste of silver didn’t bother him like the memory or scent of iron-copper blood.

Scrooge gave him another spoonful, which Donald accepted.

“I did, but that is not important, dearest,” Scrooge cajoled, “I want you to be happy, above all other things.”

Donald swallowed his food and pressed his forehead to Scrooge’s shoulder. He hummed some tune in his head that would occasionally float about in his head. When Scrooge began to hum along, Donald knew that it was something familiar, something sweet.

“You used to sing that to me and Della, when we would still make you build a nest…” Scrooge nodded, getting some more soup into the spoon. Donald turned his head, lifting away enough that Donald could take the food in his beak.

"You two didn't sleep away from me for months," Scrooge murmured. The air around them had the feeling of a cloud, the tension visible only to them but weightless, massless. "Even as you got older, when Della would go to sleepovers, you would try and crawl in my bed, making a little nest the best that you could."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, my dearest," Scrooge whispered, getting some more soup and feeding his love. "Those memories are so sweet, when the love we had for each other was something so different and rare… It makes me wonder, sometimes, if we were always meant to be here, like this. You, in my lap, being fed by someone that drowning in love for you. I, who hasn't felt something like this in a century, but never something so deep that I would break every rule in the world, just to keep you close against me."

Donald stared up at his uncle and, face growing a healthy shade of pink, hid his face in Scrooge's coat again. Scrooge laughed, rubbing Donald's back.

Soon, after spending some time apart doing their own activities - Donald did need something to occupy his time while Scrooge handled a business call that his underlings couldn't (be trusted to) manage without him - they went to bed, Donald under Scrooge's arm, just like when he first moved in with the man, all those years ago.


	3. Worship

**_Worship_ **

* * *

The dawn of the **third day** was one filled with much more energy than the day prior. Donald awoke from under the protective wing of his love, gently jostling the other awake in the process.

Donald went to apologize, but Scrooge kissed him smartly on the beak. The action itself reminded him of how impulsive his uncle could be, a smile on his face when his love pulled away.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning," Scrooge cooed to him, caressing Donald's cheek and jaw.

"Did you want to do something now?" Donald asked. His skin was itching for him to go clean his feathers, a routine that had long been instilled in him with therapy and militant routine, but he'd let his love do what he'd like.

"... _Anam cara…_ " Scrooge started, looking shyer than Donald thought he had the capacity to, "Can I clean you?"

Donald nodded. The preparations filled him with anticipation. He loved how Scrooge felt his body over, an object to be worshiped, just for existing.

The water felt wonderful, Donald sitting in it with the water stopping just below his chest. He felt himself slipping down into that mindset that made him hum with pleasure. Under the hands of his friend-of-his-soul, Donald let his mind swim, Scrooge lathering in suds with the familiar scent of the Yukon. Leaning against the bathtub’s wall, Donald let warm, wet hands clean his head-feathers and his hair. A beak came to join those experienced hands. Donald hadn’t felt this coddled, so gently, since they had begun to familiarize themselves to one another. Scrooge moved his hands and Donald just tried to wait for any direction to follow…

“Do you like that, sweetie?”

A heat began to bubble from in his belly, its deepest part, and soon Donald found a moan burst from his throat, surprising both him and Scrooge.

“Darling?”

“I…” Donald reached up, Scrooge grabbing his hand. Donald sighed, closing his eyes and dragging Scrooge’s hand below the water, to touch the spot that had made Donald the hottest. It wasn’t anything that had done so before, the inside of his thighs, but something about Scrooge touching there, right now, made Donald moan again. He could feel his cock getting hard, the warm water a different kind of stimulation than he was used to getting.

“How does it feel, _mo ghaol_?”

“... I’m hard.”

Scrooge’s hands stilled in the water, not giving in to Donald’s softly developing whimpers. For a moment, Donald thought that he should be punished - he didn’t always know how this worked, so maybe-

“Just tell me if it’s too much, _mo thunnagan beag_.”

Donald nodded, whimpers still soft in his throat as Scrooge inched closer to his cock, giving Donald any opportunity to deny him the chance to touch him. However, Donald felt the desire become more focused, a flush spreading under his feathers. The heat in his stomach began to burn his blood, his hips quivering with the urge to seek out a pleasure that he rarely ever felt.

“ _Grá mo chroí_ …” he whispered, his body itching to move, to touch…

“What do you need, darlin’?” Scrooge’s beak caressed the back of his neck, his feathers ruffled kindly.

“Inside… I think… I know I want that…” Donald tried to figure out these feelings, feelings that only came on occasion, but the thought - once he said it out loud - became a very real desire. The actual voicing of it, however, became a hot stone in his chest, something that made him lean into Scrooge’s touch.

“... All right, dearest.” A kiss planted itself on the back of Donald’s neck, followed by a small nip. “You just talk to me, all right? Whatever you feel, tell me.”

“Yes... Yes…” Donald lazily nodded his head, focusing on that feeling of his lover’s fingers caressing his thighs under the warm bath-water. They felt cloud-like, not quite there but so very grounding… The pad of a finger against his hole made him tense for a moment, but Scrooge stilled himself, allowing Donald a chance to process the sensation.

The pressure was there, and Donald knew that Scrooge couldn’t hurt him. He relaxed and nodded.

“Go ahead, sweetie,” Scrooge cooed, rubbing the entrance gently, “tell me.”

“Inside, please,” Donald gasped out, “Put it in.”

Scrooge whispered an order, but Donald disobeyed this time, holding his breath, as Scrooge pressed the tip of his finger inside. Scrooge scolded him gently, Donald eventually obeying and breathing slowly, deeply. When his body relaxed again, Scrooge rubbing the back of Donald’s neck with his beak, Donald nodded, pushing down just enough on the finger that he felt it push in just slightly.

Soon, Scrooge was slipping his finger in and out of the wet hole, slow enough as to not cause anything more than slight discomfort but fast enough that Donald found himself trying to push against that finger inside of him. The pad of a second finger curiously pressed itself at the outside, stroking some of the sensitive flesh there.

Donald nodded, whimpering out a small “More… Please, more…”

Scrooge chuckled, pressing, teasing. Soon, Donald was writhing on two fingers that Scrooge moved with a practiced ease. The knowledge that his uncle had done this before almost pissed Donald off, but this was nice, pure. Scrooge was his and anyone that had been with his uncle before…

Whoever thought that Scrooge McDuck, man of adventure, perseverance and doing everything square, would be currently making his nephew - son of his dear baby sister - start crying out in pleasure as the waves of orgasm overtook him, calling out, begging for his uncle in the way that only a lover could?

This was something that Donald would never be able to describe, or forgive himself for, but it was his. Scrooge was his, praising him and only playfully chiding him for dirtying the water. Scrooge tenderly stroked Donald inside, bringing him back up above the surface of pleasant haziness. When that became too much, Donald didn’t even need to talk, just relax as Scrooge read his body and pulled out those teasing fingers.

Scrooge preened the feathers at the back of Donald’s neck as his nephew panted for air, eyes glazed over and unseeing. Scrooge smiled against those feathers; only the **third day** of being so wonderfully intimate, and Donald had cried out underneath his hands. Scrooge would take these days as precious treasures.

For the rest of the day, Donald and Scrooge stayed close to one another, only separating when the world outside beckoned for them.


	4. Health

_**Health** _

* * *

Scrooge woke up around the **fourth midnight** , having a dream that left him with a sense of dread deep in his bones. When he awoke, he could only taste the last dregs of a nightmare on his tongue.

He looked to his side, the feathery bundle of his nephew beside him. Donald had been curled into his side, head resting on Scrooge's chest and rising up and down with each breath. He looked at peace. Scrooge smiled at that, knowing that Donald had always been a heavy sleeper.

Staring up at the ceiling now, Scrooge tried to calm his mind, admiring the moonlight. Nightmares had left him wary over the last hundred years, but they had never stopped him… Why did this one chill his blood?

He tried to remember what he had seen, but nothing came. When Scrooge tried to sleep again, dread iced his bones. He let out a stubborn huff - he had survived frostbitten winters in the Yukon. Nothing could make him so cold.

* * *

When Donald woke up the **fourth morning** , Scrooge was sitting up. The sun was still in the process of joining them to greet the day. The older drake's eyes looked haunted, older than Donald had seen in years.

" _Anam cara_?" he asked on perceived worry, "what's wrong?"

"Just a nightmare…" Scrooge sighed, closing his eyes. His spectacles were still on the nightstand.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“... I don’t even remember it, love,” Scrooge argued, the fight in his voice much less than it could have been. Donald sat up and pulled at his lover, eventually curling around the older drake and pressing kisses to his cheek.

“I’m here.”

Scrooge relaxed against him, closing his tired, aged eyes and sighing out a breath of exhaustion. Donald could feel the century beneath those feathers, but it bothered him not. Scrooge had waited a hundred years for Donald, and nothing - no nightmare nor demon - would pry Scrooge away from Donald’s affections.

* * *

One drake’s breakfast was quickly eaten, as Donald got a call from his case worker from the VA. Scrooge was left reading the newspaper and drinking his nutmeg tea. The gradually opening herbs in the tea bag relaxed Scrooge, but there was still the burn of nightmare in his throat, threatening to lash out and ruin the **fourth day** that he had all alone with his love.

Eating his oatmeal, raspberries giving the sweet tartness that he loved, Scrooge waited for Donald to return. The minutes were ticking away, every moment lost something that Scrooge would look back on in later years with disdain at the separation.

“Ugh… I had to reschedule an appointment,” Donald groaned upon taking his seat at the table again. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot.

"You should go," Scrooge argued, "your health takes precedence. I don’t want you put off your doctor visits just t’-”

Scrooge stopped, looking at Donald’s hand around his. Their eyes met again; how many times could he get lost in those eyes?

“It’s just a check-up. I called Dr. Colvig about my panic when I was showering two days ago. We talked and he said that it was okay, that it was good that I had someone to help me.” Donald leant over and nuzzled his uncle’s neck, just as he did as a duckling. Scrooge hummed in his response, listening as Donald spoke, “I’m okay. The appointment is just so I can keep my meds and therapies. Not too important.”

Scrooge squeezed Donald’s hand. “Everything is important when it comes to you.”

“... It’s better than it used to be, than when it all started. That’s the first time it’s happened in a while.” Scrooge felt Donald leaning in closer, soon shifting so that Donald was partway in his uncle’s lap. They both recalled those days, if in different measure, as Donald healed from injury, Scrooge watching as his bubbly, happy nephew was weighed down by memories.

“All right. I won’t accept any neglect on your part of your health, dearest. If you ever need anything, tell me.” Scrooge kissed Donald’s face sweetly, peppering the affections all over until his love was giggling from the feeling.

“You do the same.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Donald often found himself enjoying just lying outside in his hammock. This time, he had his beak stuck in a book after having had lunch about half an hour before. He found himself rubbing one of the pages of _Doctor Zhivago_ with his thumb, lost in Yuri and Tonya dancing. The sun wasn’t yet so high in the sky as to make the air hot, but it was light enough that Donald didn’t find the need to read with any other light than the sun.

Scrooge had been called for a phone meeting in regard to another business competing in a new branch that he had been engaging in. The fact that Donald had been working to make safety videos for the last few months had apparently inspired similar ventures by other companies. Donald found it hard to believe that safety videos really pissed off enough people that they would make their own movie studios…

Oh well; not his problem.

… Wait. How many times had he read of Yuri and Tonya dancing before the bullets came? He’d read the book so many times before, he should be at the birth of Yuri’s son by now!

Donald closed the book, groaning. He slammed the book down to the ground just under his hammock. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face and beak. Why was he feeling so damn anxious?

Or… was he missing something?

Scrooge.

It was always him.

Donald breathed in deeply, exhaling as much as he could before trying to get enough air back into his lungs to feel calm again.

They said that they would try to avoid the outside world during this week. He wanted to spend time with Scrooge, to be with him and to explore everything that they could do together. No matter what Scrooge had to do, however, Donald would not stand in the way of it. His love had built his Empire from the ground up, defying Death and Devilry itself to build something so proud and strong for his family, for a legacy.

Donald and Della had grown up with it, having their uncle close and seeing the world with him. While their mother and father could not enjoy the rest of the world outside of Duckburg, only having gone to see Grandpa Fergus only once before they died, Hortense and Quackmore had held them close, Scrooge leading them. Every kindness, every bit of fun that this family had had, was all due to the loss of Scrooge’s years, a century of loneliness - it had gotten them a fight in the family, but luckily, Hortense and Scrooge had made up before.

When Scrooge had held Donald for the first time-

“Love?”

Donald opened his eyes, looking up and trying not to blind himself as the sun shone down directly onto him. The light was blocked only moments after as Scrooge - damn, Scrooge looked so cute when he was so confused - moved to stand over him. Donald reached up and Scrooge bent down, letting Donald grab at his face.

Scrooge was a bit heavy when he fell on top of Donald, but Donald knew that he himself was heavier. He was always a bit more muscular, thanks to his father’s genes, but Donald thought that his uncle had always had quite a bit of muscle on him. While Scrooge stuttered out questions, wondering why Donald was outside, alone, and “Is that my copy of Doctor Zhivago?”... Donald found his stomach slightly unsettled by the idea that his uncle was not eating as much as he should.

“Did you eat anything for lunch yet?”

“What? No, I just got off the phone.”

Donald clicked his tongue and reached down to grab at Scrooge’s thighs, just under his ass. Even as Scrooge griped, Donald managed to get them out of the hammock. He carefully helped Scrooge wrap his legs about Donald’s waist. His hands now firmly on Scrooge’s thighs, he carried his love back inside.

Scrooge, fed by his love who began to cook immediately after setting Scrooge into his comfortable seat in the dining room, would keep this special memory to himself for years to come. Donald made him some sandwiches and a small dish of risotto, a dish that Scrooge would later confess to enjoying.

A new favorite meal.

* * *

“Why a bath? Why now, Donald?” Scrooge didn’t resist as Donald had him sitting on the side of the bathtub, removing his spats. Soon naked, Scrooge was helped into the tub, warm water soaking into his feathers and relaxing his muscles.

“You work hard.” It was all the answer that Donald gave as he began to bathe his love. A sponge was given some soap and soon, fingers were going through feathers, the sponge washing the oils and dirt of the day. When he could, Donald tried to untangle some downy feathers, especially at the base of Scrooge’s neck, where the collar of his coat had been rubbed into the feathers of the Scot.

Scrooge obeyed each silent command, every once in a while giving his own. He moved and Donald followed. Every movement was gentle.

Even when Scrooge was washed between his legs, Donald made sure to be gentle. He ignored Scrooge’s moans, trying not to give his dearest one an erection but it happened anyway. Donald just avoided it the best that he could, wanting his love to be clean, relaxed, and soon-

“Oh, fuck…” Scrooge was thrusting into that perfectly formed fist, hiding his face in Donald’s neck. Debauched and wild, Scrooge stayed in his love’s hold, crying out an orgasm that Donald didn’t understand in that moment, but it was so damn nice.

His love was here, kissing his neck and thanking him.

“... Can we sleep together again?”

“Of course,” Donald reassured him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there if the nightmares come.”

“... Thank you.”

Scrooge had no nightmares that night.


	5. Time

**_Time_ **

* * *

Breakfast on the **fifth day** was, in short terms, eventful.

“Ah! Why the hell are we playing this?” Donald handed over his last $200 over to Scrooge, who had finally beaten him in this rousing game of Scroogeopoly. Drinking the last of his orange juice, Donald watched as Scrooge placed Donald’s $200 on a healthy stack of gold paper bills, smiling all the while. Donald kept himself from laughing; of all things that his uncle could get excited about, it was always when there was a game that Scrooge seemed at his youngest.

“Well, you’ve won. Do you want to play something else?”

Scrooge’s eyes lit up. Donald would forever thank Della for thinking of family game nights when they were six.

“Sure, if you want to! What did you have in mind?”

That led them to now, with Scrooge trying to figure out the right buttons to press as they played the _Legend of Quillda_ on Donald’s game-station. The Deku Tree gave instructions, and Scrooge was hanging on to every word while Donald gave gentle chides and sweet instruction.

"So I-"

"We have to get the ocarina. Here, let's practice."

Scrooge looked so flustered holding a game controller. Donald should have thought to do this sooner. What if they had played when he was younger? Even games like Street Fighter or that old game based on the movie about Powerline could have provided them some fun like this.

"How many games are from Nintendo?"

"A lot. I like these games and the _Metroid_ games."

"What are those about?" Scrooge asked, eyes focused on the screen as he began using his sword to cut every bush in the current region. His eyes held a twinkle with every rupee collected.

"You are trying to wipe out parasitic aliens to keep them from spreading to other planets-" Donald pointed out something that Scrooge had missed.

"So this Princess Zelda has the power to stop Ganondorf?"

"No, you'll be the one wielding the Tri-Force against Ganondorf, but it's more complicated than that."

Scrooge nodded, carefully reading the text that was guiding them though the game. "... Shame we didn't have these when I was younger. My classmates would have loved this."

"Yeah?"

Scrooge managed to multitask, talking about his friends Sasha, Bryce, Aaren, and Dick back in 1877, before his tenth birthday had changed everything, as he reached the point to learn his third song on Link's ocarina before lunchtime came.

* * *

The **fifth day** proved to be something of a wallop to Donald's heart, as Scrooge would continue on with his stories at Donald's gentle requests. Some stories were well-known to the younger Drake, like that of Goldie O'Gilt and the quest for the Crown of Genghis Khan. Other stories were ones he'd heard only details of, like the trip to Foola Zoola's tribe and the curse of the Bombie.

In turn, Donald described some stories of his own, like when José and Panchito had mailed themselves to the Manor a few years ago during a break from University. Scrooge had been flabbergasted then by their sudden appearance, and now he was flabbergasted at the way that the two had gotten there.

"You mean your friend José is a black magic user?"

"Hey," Donald teased, "it's not like he's a bad guy, nothing like Magica. He just uses his magic for himself mainly. He usually doesn't even do it that often; it's mostly when he and Nestor can't pay bills."

"... Well, he seems like a good fellow."

"He's been through a lot," Donald explained. Scrooge nodded, having heard some of the parrot's life story before when all three birds were in University. Thick as thieves, the three were, even though their interests were so different, save for music. Though Scrooge would give them grief, he had enjoyed listening to the small band, who sometimes came with Xandra and Ari as backup singers.

It reminded Scrooge of how young his love was, that Donald had so much of the world to see yet. The Second Netherworld War had left the world in need of more peace, but Donald had signed up for the Navy, had been deployed to the Middle East.

It took so many baths, bandages, and comforting hours after surgery to take out shrapnel and organ parts that were no longer viable. In that moment, when Donald had held his hand, the anesthesia slowly fading from his system, and told Scrooge how much he was in love with Scrooge, Scrooge let him break that taboo in his chest.

The scent of antiseptic cursed the first kiss that they shared, and the second… it was the sweetest coming-home gift that Scrooge could have ever received, second only to the fact that his nephew had come home at all.

* * *

Somehow the day went by too fast, and the **fifth evening** soon faded to night. When the moon was starting to get high in the sky, Donald had pulled at his lover, trying to get him to follow with wanting eyes until Scrooge conceded.  They were soon outside, swimsuits on.

“Why do you want to swim so late?”

“Does it really matter?”

Scrooge had confessed to Donald many years ago that he missed the River Mississippi, even when it was terribly muddy in the spring. Sometimes, when he could rest his steamboat, Scrooge would find a good place where he could swim. The water of today was no longer as clean, progress making the world much more different than the world that Scrooge had grown up in.

However, as he followed Donald into the water, Scrooge found himself missing the rivers and seas of his youth but welcoming the chlorinated pool water all the same. He watched as Donald came into his element with all the grace of his movements. It was natural, beautiful, and Scrooge swam over to Donald to hold him when the younger drake came back up above the water.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

They both dove several times, getting feathers nice and wet. The pool, heated, was not too hot as to dissuade them from enjoying the water as the mid-summer heat began to leave them for the day. The moon provided all of the light that they  needed, enough that Scrooge could admire his love. Donald gave permission - something that Scrooge always sought after - and soon, they were on the side of the pool, Donald against the pool wall, as Scrooge began to press kisses everywhere that he could. He caressed feathers that he had known since the hatching, kissing every single one that he could reach.

Donald began to talk about so many things, mind clearly in a different place than Scrooge’s mind, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when they were like this.

All they had was time under the moon, feathers that were family, and mouths that readily chased each other for kisses, wanting to just be together, not wanting to be apart for more than physics would dare allow.

When the moon would hide behind a cloud, Scrooge would find opportunity to go under the water, kiss the strong legs that carried him about yesterday. Donald would laugh when his feet were kissed, the sensation tickling him. Soon, after swimming for surely more than an hour, as the moon looked down upon them from her mid-point in the sky, they went back inside.

They rinsed off, not even preening themselves, before heading off to sleep.


	6. Damascene

**_Damascene_ **

* * *

The first thing that happened on the **sixth day** , Donald had to run to the bathroom. He didn’t know if he woke Scrooge up, but he hoped not. A tired Scrooge was not a very happy Scrooge.

Relieving himself and showering, Donald got ready for the day. He heard the bathroom door open, and behold, Scrooge was ready at the door. He sported his top hat, cane in hand, and his coat was already on. Donald smiled at his love, coming close and nuzzling his cheek. Scrooge lazily wrapped an arm around Donald’s waist, pulling him close to let their bodies’ heat mingle.

“Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well?” Donald asked. Scrooge nodded, pressing a kiss to the corner of Donald’s jaw.

“Yeah. You?”

“Well, I wanted to wake next to you, but I suspect that nature had other plans.” Scrooge took Donald’s hand in his.

“Would you like to go out today?”

Donald groaned softly. He had wondered what his uncle had planned but he didn’t suspect that it had to do with going outside, where he couldn’t kiss Scrooge so smartly, feel the warmth of delight as they held hands for however long they wished.

“If not, we can-”

“No, it’s just-” Donald felt his face flush, “I want to just spend the day with you. I can’t…”

Donald pressed his forehead to Scrooge’s forehead, closing his eyes and letting them stay like that for just a moment before sighing. “I can’t do this, touch you whenever I want, outside.”

“My sweet darlin’ love…” Scrooge laced their fingers together, pulling away slightly. Donald opened his eyes, looking down at their hands. “We could stay in here forever, and I’d never let you leave if I had my way… We can do this, my dearest. We can hold hands. Della never does this anymore, and what kind of idiot would dare to pick a fight with Scrooge McDuck, richest duck in the world, or Donald Duck, whose top blows with all the power of a freight?”

Donald found himself smirking at that. That was true. People tended to avoid him, but they were always polite when he spoke with them. His temper seemed to have rumored stories, perhaps relating to the Curse of Clan McDuck - something that historians had asked during interviews.

If only they knew…

“Where do you want to go?” Donald squeezed his lover's hand; Della _didn't_ do this anymore. This was something just for them.

* * *

Scrooge did not drive. That was a rule.

* * *

Shopping around in antique shops, curios, and a rather strange jewelry store had made their day quite interesting. Donald found collections of old model boats. He and Scrooge used to build ships in bottles when he was a teenager. Scrooge found photography equipment similar to that he had used with Hortense and Matilda when they had been travelling in Panama.

In the jewelry shop, Donald and Scrooge found rings that Scrooge mentioned spying months ago. (The owner had given Scrooge a free cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day, inviting the trillionaire in to be safe from the weather. Scrooge made comment to come again.) They were identical, meant to be a pair, but the owner commented on their fingers and how nicely their hands would suit the rings. Scrooge purchased them with the owner's offer of free maintenance and polishing for the length of Scrooge's lifetime thus far, rounded to the nearest decade. 140 years was not that bad, in the grand scheme of things.

"Such a good price," Scrooge muttered to himself. Signing the form, he left the ring boxes and walked to where Donald stood. Donald was looking at watch chains.

"Dearest," Scrooge whispered, "Do you spot something you like?"

Even as the burn of money spending itched his mind and where he felt his wallet in his pocket, Scrooge watched Donald carefully.

Donald shook his head, avoiding his Love's gaze. "Nah, I just needed a new chain for my old watch. None of these seem right."

"All right." Scrooge went to the counter, spoke a few more words with the owner, and came to take Donald to a few more shops.

"And the rings?" Donald looked to the counter, where the owner had left and returned to place all of the boxes that Scrooge had bought in an appealing bag. Scrooge walked back to the counter, thanked the man, and took his jewelry with a gracious smile.

The bag was left in the car's backseat while Donald drove them in the exterior perimeter of Duckburg. While Donald kept his thoughts to himself, he found himself looking to Scrooge out of the corner of his eye. In his small car - sleek and smooth - if no one knew them, perhaps they would look like a couple. Years apart, perhaps, but Donald had seen stranger relationships in his time. He remembered his lieutenant marrying an older woman when they had left the military hospital. Donald, as POMA, had cared for a refugee woman giving birth to pups of a distant cousin of hers, their wife acting as his assistant with each pup.

Now, with Scrooge, Donald wished that the world didn't know of Scrooge McDuck, richest man in the world. Donald wished that everyone could forget him. He wanted to enjoy this moment everywhere, his free hand reaching to Scrooge and relishing the feeling of those fingers in his.

They got a quick lunch from a fast food restaurant - sandwiches - and got a drink from a convenient store, if only for the discounted drinks that came up to a cheaper price than if they got one from the restaurant. They also bought a big bag of peas.

After lunch, they drove closer to the center of Duckburg. They stopped in the park where they had come to talk and feed the wild swans and gulls that enjoyed the pond in Donald's childhood. Their favorite spot was hidden by weeping willows. They had ceased their visits when Donald had left for University, the weeping willows' curtains of leaf and vine the hiding place of where Donald had-

"There are cygnets." Scrooge pointed to where the mother was leading them to the pond. Donald smiled, grabbing a small bag of peas that they had bought on the way here and gently tossed some over to the mother swan.

Donald watched them for a while, mother eating and sharing with her children.

A wet kiss to his neck made Donald jump before settling down where Scrooge led him to the weeping willow's trunk. The peas fell, but the swan didn't mind getting them out of the bag, leaving it empty while her family are.

Donald let Scrooge coddle him to his fill, wet kisses pressed wherever Scrooge could reach without disrobing him. Scrooge let him watch as he pulled out a small ring box, then another.

Two rings stared back at them from Scrooge's hand, waiting for their part to be done.

“This was your plan a few days ago?”

"Perhaps."

Donald let Scrooge whisper vows to him, the kind so sincere that Donald did cry when his uncle was done.

"Blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I give you my body and spirit, 'til our lives are done. I give you all which is mine, on whatever you wish. We're free people, but I will serve you in all ways that you need. My days have been long since I waited for you, even when I did not know I needed you and when you were not yet breathing. May your days be healthy, long, and peaceful. May I see you grow old with goodness and riches. Nothing will be wanting when I give it to you from my hand, and nothing else but your name will part from my mouth with such love, even when I die.

"Would you take me as yours, as I may have you as mine?"

The mother swan and her cygnets were gone from the grass, well into swimming as Donald let out a soft sobbing with eager nodding. He held out his left hand as his ring - his wedding band - made it's home there. Donald, speechless, just placed it at the base of Scrooge's ring finger, kissing it and then Scrooge, letting them both lay in the grass and admire the sunshine through the thick willow vines.

They stayed there, enjoying each other's company until sunset and a call on Scrooge's mobile phone meant that they were almost late for a reservation.

* * *

Donald looked around the restaurant, admiring the quiet atmosphere and lights. "It's lovely. Did the great Scrooge McDuck pay extra for this? To have it all done for today?"

“Yes,” Scrooge confessed, fiddling with his pocket watch. Its silver cover popped open, clock face blinking back at Scrooge before being covered again. With the click of metal latching its cover into place, the server that had been employed by Scrooge came over with a small appetizer - fruit with alcohol.

Orange slices and pieces of pomelos were arranged beautifully on a plate, accompanied by the Scottish whisky that Scrooge had picked out. They thanked the server, who urged them to enjoy their appetizers while the courses were in preparation.

With an eagerness that Scrooge would think of as Donald’s liking to sweets and first tastes, Donald grabbed an orange slice. Carefully, he pulled it away from its peel, somehow pulling it away from its white, fleshy pith. Juice spilled from the pips over his fingers when split open by gentle pressure, quickly caught on his feathers and lapped up by his tongue.

“There’s nothing like the burn of whisky down your craig, is there?”

Donald shook his head, throwing back his cup so that he could have the first burn of alcohol in his mouth and throat. It felt delicious, made his head spin pleasantly and only temporarily.

“There isn’t,” he said, coughing slightly. A thought occurred to him. “Well, I can think of one thing.”

“And that is?”

Donald pursed his mouth and made a small popping noise, licking his beak to get the drops of whisky that stayed behind. He took another sip of his drink after Scrooge’s fingers clenched more tightly around his glass.

“You are so clever, aren’t you?”

“I got it from somewhere.” Scrooge cracked a wry smile, and the two began to chuckle at the jokes that they had just made under the public eye. This wasn’t unpleasant; it was just true. Scrooge had shaped Donald in so many ways; from the way to talk to strangers to how Donald could pursue his interests, Scrooge had taught Donald to be his own man.

Donald reached over with the bottle of whisky, filling the hardly empty glass of his uncle with just a little bit more to make it a perfect copy of where it had begun. As he thought, his love raised his hand slightly, reaching to hold Donald’s hand and stop the steady stream. While the touch was not long, it was over precious, sensitive pulse points where Scrooge could very well kill him with bladed weapon. Perhaps it was that idea, the idea that this man could _destroy_ him with only a touch, that made Donald set down the bottle and drink from his own glass again, licking the stray droplets from his beak again. Scrooge nodded in response, downing the drink with a fervor of a man starving and looking for death.

When their first meal arrived, both drakes were well into their drink, dampened in drunkenness only by bread, butter, and ice-water. The meat on their plates smelt of roast chicken, yoghurt, and tandoori spice, something that made the whisky on their tongues and minds burn with a delicious urge for harmony. Donald could recall the first time that they had tried such a dish, when they and Della had gone to London and found a lovely Indian restaurant. Della found herself loving the desserts far more.

The first bite was delicious, fire in his throat that didn’t dissuade him from taking part in his whisky again after several bites. His uncle took to the meal in much the same way, eager for the weight of food in his belly.

The same feeling came with the second course, the main. A plate of venison decorated in redcurrant jelly-sauce, potatoes, and caramelized onions sat in front of each drake. Donald finished first, actually very hungry. Shopping earlier must have really made him ignore the feeling in his belly that could only be sated by food. He dug into the second course, hardly starting when-

"Well, excuse me, dear gentlemen!" Donald and Scrooge both looked up, seeing a black-red crested cockerel with a notepad and pen in hand.

"I am a reporter for Daily Dealings." He hovered about them, eyes piercing but somehow kind. "Might I ask a few questions?"

Scrooge stared back at the cockerel, but Donald chuckled, dissuading either from argument.

"We're eating after a long day. Maybe you can call-" Donald was cut off by a short biography of his life.

"I see that you have a lovely ring on, Mr. Duck." The reporter leant in. "And you match it, Mr. McDuck!"

"We've always been close," Donald kindly explained. "We saw the pair today, and the owner convinced us that the two matches us well. Please, there's a line you can call for this."

The reporter wasn't writing anything - Donald suspected an audio recorder at this point, the sly bastard.

"I see. Do you date, Mr. Duck?"

"Not really. I'm just trying to live my life right now. Family's important - I've learnt that first-hand. You _can_ quote that if you want." Donald ate the last of the venison that he could stomach. He felt… Anxious. He could smell traumatic memories like a bloodhound.

“When will you be getting someone special, Mr. Duck? Perhaps start a little family, wife and kids and suchlike, of your own?” The cockerel had his notepad ready, on edge for whatever answer that Scrooge McDuck’s nephew would give and (thankfully) ignorant as to the cloud of anxiety that he has started in Donald's head.

Donald watched Scrooge eat a bite of meat, biting his own tongue as he searched his mind for a proper answer. The reporter was waiting for an answer, oblivious to the weight of anxiety that was threatening to make Donald sink through the floor. Thankfully, his uncle answered.

“Well, that’s all in Donald’s hands, good sir.” Scrooge took a drink from his small glass of whisky. “It’s best not force these things, nor to be testing anyone’s boundaries.”

How did any of Scrooge’s opponents survive with such a sharp tongue against them? Donald watched as the cockerel reporter felt the sharpness of his uncle’s words, the dare that Scrooge gave all that dared to come near his family. The cockerel began to stutter out a vague apology that sounded like a tumble over words.

“Now, sir,” Scrooge pressed, his tone uninterested, “may I enjoy this dinner with my nephew? Or will we have to dine outside to air out… this sudden air I feel? It’s uncomfortable, as though there are just too many bodies in the room for it to be natural. If only I could get rid of them myself!” With that, and something like a laugh - if that demonic chuckle could be considered a laugh - Scrooge set down his glass and ate the last bite of venison, bloodied with redcurrant jelly, its juice leaving a beautiful stain on the plate where it had started from. The juice also stained Scrooge’s beak, something that made Donald want to grab him right there and lick the jelly right out of his mouth. Scrooge did that for him, however, slowly but indulgently, wiping his beak with a napkin when he was done.

Scrooge nodded twice to the waiter that came close. The waiter stood at attention, asking if Scrooge and Donald would need a new location to sit. If they had cared to turn around and watch, the cockerel was escorted out by security who had paid mind to Scrooge’s conversation and the silent nod that had been returned by the waiter, a common signal for those involved in escorting out unwanted guests. Police officers would come quietly to take care of the reporter.

Unable to stop Scrooge’s call to the waiter, the cockerel hurriedly stood, though he managed to trip over himself. To refrain from a kerfuffle, Donald suspected, Scrooge asked to be taken to a more private venue, “er, perhaps outside to enjoy the evening warmth” and for dessert to be served there.

Hidden by curtains or sheer, Scrooge and Donald had rich chocolate cakes, drizzled with a currant and chocolate sauce. Wine came along for the ride, whisky still kept close. They had next to each other on a seat that was almost like an indoor restaurant booth, if only curved to suit the table.

Scrooge, assuring his love that all was well, pressed kisses to Donald's ring, licking off stray crumbs of chocolate cake that had stuck to those feathers. Donald, filling his gut with chocolate, wine, and whisky, later turned to Scrooge, his back to Scrooge's chest. The moon shone with mirth, protecting their secret.

“Here, my darlin’.”

Donald stayed put in Scrooge’s arms, looking down at the box that appeared in his love’s hands. His back against Scrooge’s chest, Donald hummed and picked up the box, examining it. Those strong arms encircled his waist, Scrooge resting his head upon Donald's shoulder.

“Is this from that jewelry store?”

“Open it, lovely.”

Donald opened the box. After examining it, processing what he saw, Donald picked the watch-chain that he had admired. The steel-alloy shone in the moonlight, its humble luster sharing no word as to its strength. He cradled it between his fingers, cool and smooth. He could feel the slightly tense arms of his love, and Donald relaxed backwards, resting his head on Scrooge's shoulder. Their cheeks were pressed together, and a waiter would say later how sweet Mr. McDuck was, walking his inebriated nephew from the restaurant, the younger Drake following close.

What a nice family, where nephew and uncle still honored that relationship after all these years.


	7. Despair

_**Despair** _

* * *

It was morning.

Donald glared at the calendar with an ire that threatened to tear him apart. It was something much worse than the anger that he inherited from both of his parents. It was a piece of despair, because after today, Donald didn’t know when he would get to just grab Scrooge in the hallway of McDuck Manor, pin him to the wall, and achieve the highest pleasure that he could get (on a good day, anyway) by pressing Scrooge into babbling orgasm and Donald only getting kissed. When could he get the embrace of a lover? Not his uncle, but when would _his lover_ be able to hold him, nuzzle him with tongue over feathers, marking them as his?

Donald looked over to the other side of the bed, just to his side. Scrooge had an arm around Donald, possessive, even in sleep. Oh God, when could they sleep like this again? Donald watched Scrooge dream, sleep… Those eyes looked so relaxed under aged feathers, not like the century that they were. Fingers that held onto Donald like a lifeline and body that held the strength to create an empire; these were all of Donald’s love, and this was what he had worked to possess his entire life.

Did he dare move? Could the day never start if Donald didn’t move, if Scrooge never woke? What if Scrooge never stirred, stayed clinging to Donald in such a way that nothing would separate them? This moment could be here forever, and it would only be when they moved that they would finally be the victims of Time’s uncaring power…

He shifted in his place in bed, trying to get closer to Scrooge’s warmth. In his desire, Scrooge grunted and his eyes opened.

Damn it.

“Good morning, dearest,” Scrooge greeted him sleepily, pressing kisses to Donald’s neck. Donald was already melting into the happy love of his uncle, shuddering as a lovely warmth filled his chest. He turned to face Scrooge, managing to catch a kiss with his beak and making sure they managed to taste each other.

This taste was his, all his. That fire in his chest made Donald push against Scrooge, press their beaks together in a desperate, hungry morning kiss. Scrooge, somehow, let Donald press him into the mattress, taking the kiss, the claim of love, as it was given to him.

Soon, they were suffocating, finally parting for breath but keeping their foreheads together. They stayed silent, eyes locked in a silent vow.

“Good morning, _anam cara_ ,” Donald whispered.

“What a greeting, my dear.” Scrooge reached up, fingers reaching up to Donald’s hair and head-feathers. They tangled themselves there, locked in place. Donald found himself remembering that pressure, when they first began to learn their play, their touch. He let his head be moved about, neck soon exposed to the territorial mouth of the friend-of-his-soul.

Donald groaned out approval as painful bites, wonderful marks that would bruise, covered his neck. Scrooge was humming something familiar, filthy and hot and so wonderfully familiar, that there was no way that Donald could hear that damn lullaby again from his uncle’s beak without remembering how much he wanted to please Scrooge, to be loved by him.

“My good boy.”

Donald hummed, letting out a trill, a small sound that he hadn’t made since God knows when - perhaps when he had fucked his hand - or Panchito’s hand? - back in University. Scrooge trilled in return, moaning against Donald’s mouth as he pressed their beaks together. No kiss, but it was enough that Donald felt so…

At peace.

What he would give to feel this every moment, without anxiety or antidepressant medications.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Anything… Can I be close to you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I keep you close?”

They got up together, showered together. Hands washed feathers, plucking unhealthy ones with care. After they cleaned themselves, Scrooge did his now-usual practice of preening his young love, rearranging those feathers into a healthy, beautiful coat that Donald found himself trying to emulate in his uncle, the strong down of his uncle a bit difficult to handle but it did not stop him.

“It’s all right, Donald. I’ve got it-”

“I wanna try.”

Donald set about to preening Scrooge in the way that Scrooge had always preened him, even when he was a duckling, as though he were a precious treasure, worth more than gold. Scrooge often told him and Della that. The words were for family only.

Family.

“Darlin’, what are you-” Scrooge cut himself off with a gasp as Donald ventured downward. A beak was pressing tender kisses to Scrooge’s feathers, the same pick which painlessly removed feathers that weren’t up to par to be in Scrooge’s feather coat. One of those kisses was just by the meeting of thigh to hip, dangerously close to-

“Oh, Donald,” came a sound that was almost begging. The act of kissing had brought a warm pit to Scrooge’s lower belly, and now, as Donald licked under his feathers, Scrooge found himself thrusting forward, letting his cock harden and Donald licking at the head and its length.

Donald found this kind of touch, this worship of his uncle’s body from which his love found pleasurable enjoyment. It made Scrooge so happy, and Donald loved the feeling of Scrooge’s fingers digging into his head-feathers. Right by the root they were grabbed. Patiently, Donald moved to swallow down his lover’s cock, restricting his own gag reflex as his mouth was used as a toy.

“My beautiful, beautiful darlin’. So good, so good…”

Donald felt his chest fill with unspeakable warmth.

This is what he wanted. He wanted the closest thing to an orgasm that he never found a problem with. He wanted his love to tell him nice things, call him lovely. Even as he was used like this, Donald felt a strange sense of completion. He could stay here for as long as Scrooge wanted, though he knew that Scrooge liked different things than this.

The slick, wet noises of his mouth around his lover’s cock, the speed with which the sounds changed from unaccompanied to Donald moaning dreadfully, needily, as Scrooge began to curse for his orgasm, wanting Donald to swallow him down, taste him until the taste was the only thing that Donald would remember-

Both drakes moaned, Donald swallowing multiple times as to not lose a drop of the precious spend from his dear love. Fingers let go of his head-feathers, petting his shoulders, cheeks, everywhere else.

“Donald?”

“Yes?” That was one nice thing about Donald’s speech pattern - Donald’s voice was never more hoarse after such activity.

“What’s wrong?”

Their eyes met, as they always did, but Donald quickly looked away again, not daring to get lost in the blue eyes that everyone in their family had, that were so much like-

“Now.”

Donald felt his face be turned to Scrooge again, the blue that only had ever gazed upon him with love (whatever kind they had) now look at him with something close to disappointment. Was it possible to feel so terribly nauseous now?

“You’re mine, right?”

Scrooge nodded solemnly.

“And you are mine. We belong to each other, lad. What bothers you?”

Donald felt Scrooge's hand, where the ring of his love still stayed.

"... I want to do everything."

"Everything?"

"Fuck me," Donald pressed. "Love me… Nothing but your name, Scrooge. Make me scream nothing but that."

Donald let his forehead lay against his lover’s thigh, whining softly, begging.

That is how we come to the events of the **seventh day.**

Scrooge had pulled the watch-chain from its box, smirking when Donald blushed at the indulgent idea that Scrooge had.

Now, past morning but not quite noon, Scrooge had come upon his lover, showered and needing preening.

"Delicious," Scrooge described, pressing his tongue into Donald's arse for the first time, sucking at the entrance but avoiding the rest of the space there. When Donald's cock came out, hard and needy, Scrooge was enamored all over again, pressing fingers into Donald's hole along with his tongue.

Spread out on their bed, Donald did his best to obey like he did earlier, trying to keep from coming as cool metal graced his cock and a lubricated vibrator pressed into his hole, his body clenching and relaxing with each movement.

“Come on, lad, come on…”

“Pl-please... “ Donald pushed his ass against the vibrator that ran just below his hole, the toy rubbing agonizingly at the rim. “ _Gràdh mo chridhe_ …”

“It’s all right,” Scrooge whispered, grabbing Donald’s cock and wrapping the sensitive skin of the head with the watch-chain that Donald had admired since he had found it in the stores. The metal, clean and mirror-like, stood out brightly against the hard flesh, cold and making Donald cry out in excitement as the change in temperature made his body shake with the subtle, teasing lap of an approaching orgasm. It was so far away, but Donald found himself chasing it.

“Scrooge…” Donald turned his head, biting at the pillow under his head, letting out moan after moan as the metal was pulled. The loops of chain wound their way around Donald’s cock, torture and pleasure as they would be led in one direction and then another.

“So beautiful, Donald,” Scrooge praised, kissing Donald’s twitching, bound legs as he played with his young lover’s body. Donald let out a sob, but he was still rubbing himself against the toy, trying to arch up into the choking metal on his cock.

After a few moments of teasing, Scrooge gently ordered Donald to avoid orgasm, to which Donald whimpered. The older drake cooed at him, pressing kisses to his thighs and telling him that he could do it, that Donald had enough self-control for that. Donald eventually nodded and took in several breaths. Scrooge twisted the vibrator in his grasp to give a warning. When Donald nodded again, Scrooge pressed the vibrator into the twitching hole that he had already prepared with slick.

Donald gave a jolt, breath hiccoughing in his throat as his back arched.

“Shh… My bonnie boy, my good boy,” Scrooge whispered, his own cock throbbing painfully as the toy slid to the base, Donald’s body almost swallowing it eagerly. The puffy rim of his hole was tensing and relaxing, some space visible; Scrooge wondered in his mind if he could fit more inside, but he wouldn’t dare to push Donald so far without proper discussion first. For now, Scrooge was being spoilt with the beautiful scene of his nephew crying out as his ass was being toyed with, his cock spilling pre-spend like a bubbling fountain that Scrooge found himself partaking in and swallowing every drop.

The metal was interesting in Scrooge’s mouth, the texture strange against his beak, but it didn’t hold its own taste. Instead, the chain tasted of Donald, urging the old drake to taste it more, suckling on spots where the chain held onto more precious pre-spend.

“ _Mo chridhe!_ ” Donald cried out once before letting out the most beautiful sob. His body was trembling, the movement continuous as the vibrator hummed away inside of him. Donald let out no tears - Scrooge was always watchful of that sort of thing - but his sobs and whimpers were on-going, starting coherent and fading away into pain-pleasure sounds that made Scrooge eager to remove so much of this artificiality from his lover and leave nothing between them.

At that thought, Scrooge lifted away from the younger drake’s cock, a hiss escaping Donald as the cool air of their bedroom - _their_ bedroom! - made the metal cold.

“Please…”

“Hush, my darlin’,” Scrooge cooed, turning off the toy and moving to kiss Donald’s face and cheeks. He did miss some tears, but Donald was quick to kiss back, wanting the taste of Scrooge on his tongue, in his throat, everywhere… Donald let out a few hiccoughs, but everything was fine, if somewhat hazy.

“My sweet boy,” he was praised, the metal chain being removed as a reprieve. Donald nodded, eager to please. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Donald closed his eyes, catching his breath.

Scrooge nuzzled his beak into Donald’s neck, inhaling that wonderful scent of arousal and happiness underneath those lovely feathers. His fingers traced a path over the watch-chain to the tip of Donald’s drakehood, smiling at the whimpers and weakened thrusts that Donald gave him. Pre-spend was dribbling down the chain at a near constant rate. Scrooge, hard and needing, restrained himself, wanting Donald to unravel completely once they reached that final boundary.

“My beauty, my boy…” Scrooge murmured, taking off the chain gently, slowly.

Agonized, Donald turned his head slowly, trying to face Scrooge. Their gazes were locked.

“Now.”

“Are you sure?”

Scrooge knew that Donald was strong. His nephew had always been able to fight off demons, beasts, and wild animals. In the military, Donald had even called home, reporting how well he had scored on some of the physical exams. It had been a source of despair when the re-evaluation for Donald’s PTSD had made him unfit to be in the service again, earning him an honorable discharge. Still, Donald could best his nightmares, being the strength and wit to Scrooge’s usual conniving and zeal.

However, that didn’t stop Scrooge from moaning as Donald managed to shift his hips enough that Scrooge was trapped between his knees. Donald flipped them over, now stuck on top of Scrooge. It was almost laughable, how Scrooge was struggling to rut up against his nephew while Donald still managed to rock, carefully using what limited range of motion he had of his legs to thrust against his lover’s abdomen.

“So good…” Donald whispered, thrusting and pushing Scrooge down into the mattress. Scrooge found himself spilling between them, not the orgasm he craved, but the spend that had been building up. A sob escaped Scrooge, tears escaping from his eyes where there had been none before - his body felt none of the pleasure, none of the release, and yet he was quivering under Donald, not resisting the nuzzling to his neck and face from his lover.

“Damme…” Scrooge cursed, turning his face to rub his cheek against Donald’s head. Catching his breath, Scrooge could feel Donald against him, hard and hot. He remembered the idea that had occurred to him earlier in the day, and even moments before - though the thought had been only a wisp, gone before fully realized - when Scrooge remembered just how strong Donald was.

"My good boy," Scrooge cooed, his breath settled back into his lungs and his body pliant. Donald slowed, humming with eagerness as Scrooge shifted, reaching for the bedside table. The now familiar container of lubricant was pulled close, the water substance coating Scrooge's fingers. Donald arched his back in response, only for confusion to blanket his face. Donald moved to speak, but then Scrooge was rocking his own hips, groan and grimace of pleasure contorting his face.

"Need you…. Need you!" Scrooge pressed his beak to Donald's beak, lower jaw locked open in confusion and their tongues messily tasting each other. Donald melted into the sensation, body on edge with the threatening orgasm. Soon, Scrooge was open, stretched and ready for Donald to fuck himself into, as the friend-of-his-soul so lovingly put it.

"I want y' so deep inside of me, love," Scrooge hissed, moving up in the bed and grabbing Donald's thighs. Scrooge spread his own legs, their cocks brushing each other's and Donald almost falling forward at the feeling

Donald obeyed as he grabbed at the covers under Scrooge's head on either side of his Love's head, Scrooge's thighs wrapping themselves around his waist. A few.more shifts, Donald whimpering all the while, and the tip of his drakehood met a wet, tight space.

" _Mo chridhe_ … _Anam cara_?" Donald cleared his head for a moment, panting harshly as their eyes met. McDuck eyes, blood running deep and strong, gazed back at McDuck eyes. They were drowning in one another, Donald letting his forehead rest against Scrooge's forehead.

There, Scrooge stilled. He stared back into Donald's eyes - the beautiful eyes of his nephew.

Would Hortense hate him? What would Matilda and Gideon say? His father? His mother? What if Della, bless her sweetness, found out that her twin brother, adult and hard and wanting to fuck his spend deep into his uncle, had wanted this since he understood what adult love was? How would the world react if it would see uncle and nephew like this?

"... Do you want this?"

"I've never wanted anything or anyone more."

All other lovers, all other desires - everything was cast away as they found themselves connected in the one way they had never tried before, had never dared. At first, it had been of shyness, then patience, and then the shame of what they would be committing, of the conviction that had to boil and shrivel their hearts for them to do such a thing. Now, as Scrooge grunted at the delicious, painful sting of being full, as Donald cried out at the urge to orgasm (but not yet, because Scrooge was hardly getting hard again); they couldn't deny that this was something that they would overthrow kingdoms for, defy gods… They had hunted for this treasure for over a collective century, and - at last! - they had it.

Donald held still as Scrooge adjusted, but his legs - bound and aching - trembled with excitement. By the time he found himself in a rhythm of thrusting and retreating, Scrooge was moaning, crying out his love’s name and soon getting hard again. The world was gone, only Scrooge left underneath him as they cried out for each other.

"Oh, fuck…" Donald was so dizzy… Was he dreaming? Everything he wanted, underneath him and begging for more - his own movements were sharp and harsh, territorial and greedy. The burning in his thighs, the loving constriction of ropes around his legs; nothing had felt so heavenly before.

"Good boy," Scrooge praised. If either drake were paying attention, they'd notice that Scrooge's bed was moving, hitting the wall. Scrooge, pleasure-addled, instead praised his nephew with any phrase that passed through his mind. "Yes, yes! More, like that- Harder-”

“ _Chridhe_ , so tight, so tight!” Donald shivered as Scrooge moved, biting Donald’s neck without restraint. The pain sent heat straight to his groin, cock throbbing painfully. Scrooge was shuddering again but nothing spilt, the full impact of orgasm finally hitting the older drake. Donald’s name pulled itself from Scrooge’s throat, hoarse and familiar and so filthily that Donald’s vision went black.

Donald felt the pressure in his stomach finally release, a rush of heat escaping into Scrooge. He thrust as much as he could, as deeply as he could, just to make sure that Scrooge would always feel him there, never losing the feel of Donald inside. His voice, hoarse, only cried out for his uncle, a feral cry for love, desire, and the absolute adoration of the drake that had raised him, accepted him, and loved him so dearly.

Tears left him, and Donald sobbed through his orgasm, hips rolling without control or rhythm. Scrooge held him tightly, still biting his neck and at his jaw. Scrooge was cooing to him, gently, but Donald didn’t care. He despaired at the fact that this beautiful creature was finally his, the person lighting a fire in him so many years ago cradling him tightly as they said words of love to each other, ready for the world to tear them apart tomorrow. Nothing would destroy what just happened, and the scars that they would discover on their bodies later, marks of their love-making that they would bear with pride, were only evidence of it.

They lay together in silence, save their breathing. Their breathing was the same, fingers grasping onto fingers and feathers. The last **seven days** were theirs, the only time in the world that mattered.


	8. Game Over

**_Game Over_ **

* * *

 

When Della returned home, she met with Duckworth at the door. They greeted each other warmly, hugging and telling each other about their excursions without Scrooge McDuck or Donald Duck accompanying them.

“I bet they fought the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them, Miss Della.”

When they opened the door, no one came forward.

“Damn it! I hate this! Why is it- Agh!”

Della opened the door, surprised at her uncle yelling at the television and her brother laughing so hard that his laugh faded into breathy wheezing. A “Game Over” sign displayed on the screen.

“What are you guys doing?”

Scrooge turned to Della. She had not seen such frustration in his eyes since one of their adventures in Ithaquack, when Zeus forced them to play certain games before letting them leave.

“This damn game is so frustrating. I have died three times already!”

“Tha’s why-” Donald tried to talk, but he fell into laughter again. “I told you that this Metroid game is hard!”

“God damn it!”

Della stared at her brother and uncle. The room was filled with a childish sort of competitiveness, one full of energy and light. It made her bubble inside of his chest before she let out a laugh that had been quickly born in her chest.

“Unc- Uncle Scrooge!” Della held the armrest of her uncle’s favorite seat. “How… Ha ha!”

“I will beat this game if it’s the last thing I do!” Scrooge reloaded from his save point, hurriedly trying to go through the boss. He maneuvered Samus well, but he kept missing certain platforms.

Della never thought that she would enjoy herself more than this. After another half-hour of watching her uncle play, both twins invested in the older drake’s strategies, all three ducks cheered when Scrooge finally made it to the end, Donald taking the controller before Scrooge threw it in overzealous triumph. She saw her uncle hug her brother close, kissing his cheeks and hands, before collecting himself and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Well," Donald announced, getting out his old pocket watch. "I'm going to see what he needs-"

"Is that a new chain, Donnie?"

Sure enough, Della spotted the new chain. She smiled and excused herself to her shared room, ready to put her bags away from her journey with Daisy.

"I'm glad you guys enjoyed your week alone!" she called behind her, not seeing the two drakes smile in the way that children learn that butterflies aren't meant to be touched, only appreciated. Their time was short, but it was lovely.

She missed the rings.


End file.
